On not giving up

I kill plants. I don’t want to. I don’t feel good about it. But I do. I imagine every greenhouse has heard of me…the plants talk. When I pick up a pot I imagine the little roots clinging desperately to the wood below it trying desperately to avoid being taken home by the plant killer lady. Every spring I have the same good intentions and every fall there are the bones of my victims littering my lawn and yarn. It isn’t pretty.
This geranium though…there is something to this geranium. It is a plucky little plant. I have tried to kill this for years! Last fall it was down to two brown stubs with a couple withered leaves. Pathetic. For some reason (I am lazy and never throw anything out) I brought that plant inside and put it on the window sill and watered it. Not all the time. Once a month (maybe). And the most incredible thing started happening. It grew. Little green sprouts started to appear, leaves followed, and then the other day I found the most amazing thing…a bud. My geranium is going to have a flower.

I have not worked out regularly in about two months. I have gained four pounds. I have spent a lot of time wandering around my house searching for clothes, toys, books, flashlights, meaning only to have found laundry to fold. I have found myself in the midst of being surrounded by good stuff crying because of something I just haven’t found….yet. I blame the weather, the darkness, the schedule, but really it is just life. And this flower that is coming on my plant presented itself to me at just the right time. I find hope there. I find excitement and promise.
My friend once told me the story of a flower that she had that grew right along with her pregnancy with her daughter. She had the flower on her window of her bedroom. She watched it grow taller and stronger just like the amazing little girl inside her and on the day her daughter was born that flower bloomed. Beautiful Red Strong. I love that story.

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I made whoopie pies for a great friend’s birthday.

This song! Put it on your running mix toward the end of your run. It’s perfect.

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